Ashes
by The Ghost Who Walks1
Summary: The Romanian shrugged "Funny how important it all seemed back then, how important they seemed. I don't know about you, but I would have died for my Prince". Turkey and Romania reminiscing about their past battles and leaders-M for violence, rewritten.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

**Author's note: One of my favourite portions of history told through the eyes of Turkey and Romania.**

**Romania was similar to Germany, meaning there was a lot of smaller countries which eventually became Romania. So for stories purposes when they merged Wallachia became the personification of Romania. In other words Wallachia=Romania. **

Turkey rode beside his Sultan, the man who had defeated Byzantium and the last shards of her dying empire. His Sultan was powerful and the Ottoman Empire is expanding like lightning. He supposed was would be more correct. One nation and its rulers had been a thorn and his side for far too long. Wallachia.

His country was tiny and yet his Prince refused to submit! The Prince was supposed to be a military genius; he had single handily blocked their expansion into Europe. Spurring his horse on Turkey smiled, they'd soon put a stop to that wouldn't they.

Wallachia stood with his Prince, the man who had stood up to Turkey. He was clever, as a child he had been forced to live with the Sultan to make sure his father obeyed his treaty obligations. At first he had resisted, and then he had watched learnt everything he could from them. He had been placed on the throne to act as their puppet. But the Prince had never been one to obey, and had refused their taxes, treaties, and all of their demands. It was through him that Wallachia would be strong again.

* * *

><p>The campaign was hell. Turkey had his weapons, resources and his seemingly endless numbers. Wallachia had his tactics, knowledge of the tertian and most importantly nothing to lose. Both sides were brutal, neither wanted to lose.<p>

Turkey captured a Wallachian troop; first he had offered him freedom, then riches and a noble title. Finally the nation had lost his temper and threatened to execute the solider. The young man had looked at him definitely and said without trepidation.

"Sir, I know my life is in your hands and that you will have me murdered, but there is nothing you can do to make me betray my Lord."

His boss had been shocked, never had he witnessed such loyalty. Later when he and Turkey were alone he had said 'If only he were king of a bigger nation then he could rule the world'.

He knew the terrain, his soldiers hid in the Carpathians until the Turkish troops marched by. The population retreated with the army leaving nothing behind them. Then they had made the ultimate sacrifice, his Prince had burnt the earth. He was to become a desert; Wallachia wept as the fire over took his land. He knew his Prince's tactic, but the Nation couldn't bear to see himself burn.

Wallachia and his Prince urged them to be brave, was not god on their side? They launched making quick work of the isolated scouting parties before disappearing like ghost leaving only corpses. The only problem was Turkey had god on his side too.

Turkey stood guard at their camp; he didn't need to sleep as much as humans. That said the gruelling campaign of guerrilla warfare was waring him down, what his forces needed was a pitched battle and a chance to use their fabulous cannons like they had at the fall of Constantinople. Instead whole units had disappeared, once he had doubled back to find their impaled bodies. He really couldn't judge he supposed, the Prince had developed his taste for torture in his old Boss's court. That summer scorched the soil like wrath from the gods; water became more and more scarce.

Wallachia stood in the dark beside his Prince. The Prince was looking worn, paler than usual, green eyes dull, and altogether haggard. His voice was strong as he instructed his troops, the game of cat and mouse had gone on long enough. Their enemy's moral was all but shattered; it was time to land a decisive blow. Tonight they would kill the Sultan.

"It would be better that those who think of death should not follow me". He said to Wallachia and the troops before they departed.

Wallachia led his cavalry through the darkness bolting towards the Sultan's tent. It was in the centre where it was safest. Most of the Turkish troops were asleep; they quickly woke as thunderous hoof beets filled the air. His men were locked in their own bloody struggles, he could see his Prince holding his own and the other commanders locked in combat. He rush towards the tent, the blow must be struck. He froze as pain ripped through his body.

For a moment Turkey was lost in the chaos, the Wallachians had appeared out of nowhere; drawing his sword he had joined the battle. They fell by the dozen and then he had seen the fanged nation rushing towards his Sultan's tent. So set upon his course of action was the Wallachian that he remained oblivious, that was until Turkey sunk his sword into his heart. Wallachia fell stately in death.

"See how you like it" He snarled.

His anger was fuelled from an incident that happened not a month prior. Tired of disappearing patrols he had taken a group of his best troops. They had wandered through mile upon mile of blackened soil, not one bird sung, not one village was left standing, and all the pools of water were poisoned sometimes a putrefied body could be found floating at the surface. The entire country had become a graveyard.

It had happened on the third night they sat around their fire, sleeping in shifts. It was as though they appeared out of the ground, the Wallachian cavalry. With amazing precision they captured him and the others. As their leader entered light, Turkey gasped Wallachia.

"Well boys you know what to do."

The entire Turkish army had heard tales of the Impaler Prince, they were prepared for their fate, but as the Wallchians brought forth the sharpened poles he felt something he hadn't for centuries, fear. Wallachia had learnt well from his Prince, he knew fear was a powerful weapon. One by one his troops and the poles were introduced, the lucky ones through the stomach soon to die from blood lose, but there were other ways. Cursing all the way, Turkey was dragged to the stake. Through his shoulder and into his heart, agony ripped through his chest. Nations could die Roman Empire, Carthage, Gaul, and Germania had all taken that final journey. He would feel this terrible pain, he would die and then he would live again. Nations could die, but not like this his people still needed him. Prayers escaped his lips, and blackness clouded his vision.

He woke hours later dried blood coating his clothes, the scarlet horror painting everything in sight. After hours of torture he fell to the ground, his body began its rapid healing. He screamed as the wound stitched itself closed, muscles and sinews regrew burning as the whole filled in. As a thin film of skin stretched across the fissure, he climbed to his feet biting his lip as pain ripped through his chest. His heart went out to the poor wretches who still adorned the stakes, like so many in the Prince's country.

* * *

><p>Wallachia woke surrounded by cadavers, as the clouds of death faded. He shuddered at how long he had been here surrounded by death; he muttered a prayer in hopes of dispelling his horror. Turkey had promised revenge and he had delivered it. After examining his latest scar, he struggled to his feet and walked to his army's camp.<p>

After the Night Attack, as it would be called in later times, Turkey's army had been on edge. The battle had been devastating for both sides, his Sultan had lost more men then the Prince, but the Wallachian's army was tiny compared to his. So his Sultan had decided to push on, the fires of revenge burning within him.

Wallachia and his Prince stood in the camp; they knew Turkey and the Sultan would go to the capital. The promised aid had never come, they were on their own. His Prince gave the orders that chilled the nation to the bone, and if their last ditch effort didn't work the defenders were ready to lay down their lives.

Turkey rode beside his Sultan, the army advancing on the capital. Horses straining as they dragged the mammoth cannons, they would lay siege to the city, it would fall just like Constantinople. The troops stopped, he ordered them forward, no response. He and his Sultan rode to the head of the army indent of finding the answer. They too froze at what filled their eyes.

Horror, pure and undiluted horror did not come to close to describing the sight. A forest like no other on earth stretched for miles ahead of them right to the gates of the Wallachian capital. Corpses, thousands and thousands of them, each impaled on a stake. Their faces contorted in agony, the heat of summer had caused the flesh to putrefy exposing bone, organs, and rotting flesh. The insects were like a biblical plageue, feasting on the poor souls who surrounded the Capital. As they penetrated further in the grisly woods, they saw two stakes double the height of the others. Turkey recognised the occupants, two of his commanders who had been captured some months before. He turned to his Sultan, both of their faces lined with sweat.

Wallachia and his Prince could keep the country; it was not worth the price.

* * *

><p>His Prince enjoyed the short victory, soon after his allies abandoned him and Turkey and his Sultan had claimed his life. Years passed Turkey invaded again, eventually he won. There were many who tried to take up his Prince's cause; none were as great or as infamous. Centuries pasted Wallachia became Romania, and Turkey's Ottoman Empire disappeared.<p>

Another world meeting, France and England began to argue. For no reason at all America joined in, Prussia started to saying how 'not awesome' this was and Germany began screaming for order. A recess was called and the Nations dispersed.

Turkey found himself alone with Romania; to his surprise the nation smiled revealing his fang. Turkey unconsciously touched his chest; the exit wound from the stake had given him a large scar that still adorned his chest.

Frowning Romania asked "Does it still hurt?"

"Occasionally, what about yours?"

The Romanian shrugged "Funny how important it all seemed back then, how important they seemed. I don't know about you, but I would have died for my Prince"

"You did die for him and I died for my Sultan." It was Romania's turn to touch his own scar, though it was nothing compared to Turkey's "But so did countless others"

"They were great men and great warriors, they both did what they believed was right. We were loyal, and served then until they died."

"It's strange all that pain, the suffering and the death. For what?" Turkey said cynically.

"Nothing, we died for them and now they're nothing but ashes"

Turkey shook his head "We remember them, our people speak of them. The world over people marvel and shudder at their deeds, they're more then ashes. They're our memory and our history".

Romania grabbed his glass from the table he held up to toast.

"To history"

Holding his own glass he echoed the Romanian before adding "To memory"

"To Vlad the Impaler"

"To Mehmed the Conqueror"

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

**Mehmed the Conqueror: He was the Sultan of Turkey from 1451-1481. He is most remembered for his conquest on Constantinople and his Battles against Vlad the Impaler. He is considered a national hero in Turkey. Also known as Mehmed the Faith. The Ottoman Empire expanded at record pace under his leadership. He was a brilliant general, one of the first to make use of cannons and extremely brave. **

**Vlad the Impaler: AKA Vlad Tepes, and Vlad Dracula (Son of the Dragon) Prince of Wallachia, he had a hatred of the Turkish that lasted all his life. Though by modern standards his actions are deplorable (I didn't make up the forest of the impaled), he was a brilliant strategist making use of germ warfare, physiological warfare, and a lot more. Many countries supported Vlad's efforts promising troops and aid, it never arrived. His legacy is difficult; it really to depends on who you ask. Some would say he was a sadist and others a hero.**


End file.
